Daffodils
by Magical Love
Summary: OneShot.And as you exit through the door into the rain, you can’t help but think that the daffodils look lovely today. Please R and R!


**Daffodils**

**Disclaimer:** J.K. Rowling owns all, except for the plot which is mine.

Daffodils…why he insisted you place pots of daffodils all over the flat you would never know. You hated them; they were a reminder of the final battle for they grew all over the place thus making daffodils one of your least favourite flowers that grew, and because he forgot that infuriated you. Maybe because he loved daffodils and you hated them that caused you to want to leave. Or maybe it was because he always put himself first in the relationship. Or maybe it was because he never really loved you, that he just wanted you so nobody else could have you.

Or maybe you just thought about it too much for your own good.

So that is why you decided to continue to live with him and why you put up with his horrid daffodils for just a bit longer. But sometimes, the times when he came home late or drunk, you wondered why you stayed. He didn't need you, not really. He was a full grown man; he could take care of himself. And if he couldn't, well his mother would probably take him back with open arms.

Sighing, you rolled over on your bed so you could stare up at your ceiling. This had become a new habit of yours – you would stay up all night, except for an hour or two, where you would contemplate how you had gotten yourself so involved with a man that you knew wasn't the one. You knew that you had been drawn together during the war and that your connection had deepened when your mutual best friend had died in order to save the wizarding, and Muggle, world. But now, after years of staying with him where neither of you had attempted to move the relationship forward, you wondered _why_.

The door creaked open and you pretended to sleep as you felt the bed sink under his weight when he crawled under the covers next to you. Soon his snores filled the room. Snoring was something else that you didn't like about living with him, he was so loud! At least at Hogwarts, when you shared a dorm with giggling girls, the snores weren't as loud and irritating. You know you could always use _Silencio_ but when he woke in the morning before you, he wouldn't be able to reverse it because he sucks at wordless magic. He not talking might be enjoyable, but you know that when you set him straight you two would have a big row.

That was something else that got on your nerves. The rows, oh the long and nasty rows you two had! He took pleasure in tormenting you while all you felt like doing was knocking some sense into his bloody head. Back in Hogwarts, you always put off the rows, never resolving them, because of your dead mutual best friend, but now that he was dead, the rows continued until they were actually resolved. And once they were, you would always make up in the most amazing ways (mostly for him, anyways), but was that enough to keep a dead relationship back to life?

You look at the clock. It is three o'clock in the morning; he'll be up in two hours. Slowly, you crawl out of bed and grab your dressing gown, tying it securely around your waist before you head to the main room. You grab a picture that was beside a pot of daffodils off of the fireplace mantle, light the fire with a quick flick of your wand and sit on the couch, letting the light off the flames bounce on the frame. You sigh; the picture is of your fifth year before you were attacked by a Death Eater, before the three of you knew about the prophecy, before you went crazy with jealousy, before your best friend was killed, when your greatest worry was a deranged professor and O.W.L.s and the Dark Lord. You examine the picture. Your best friend's picture self is acting like he had no cares in the world, while your picture self is trying to hide behind him as your boyfriend's picture self looks away from you – unable to look at you because he knows you'll be able to see through the front he's put up.

You put that photo back and grab another one – this one was taken right after the war ended and it contains just the two of you. Neither of you look very happy – either because you just lost a bunch of good friends and allies or because they are reflecting your current situation and feelings.

You sit there, looking at the many different pictures taken over the years, and nearly jump out of your skin when you hear the thunder. It had been raining that day so many years ago, which had since made you jumpy from the rain, which is silly because you had loved the rain when you were a small child. You know he heard the thunder because you can hear his feet padding along the floor. You don't even bother to look up at him when he sits beside you and takes your hand in his; instead you look out the window just in time to see the lightning.

He whispers something in your ear, but you don't really listen to his words, you listen to the pitter-patter of the raindrops on the rooftop. He cups your chin and makes you look into his pale blue eyes. They say that eyes are the windows to the soul, and if that is the case, you know that what he has been telling you for years is really just a lie. He never was good at lying, not to you anyways, neither of them were. You can tell that he is only staying with you because he thinks _you_ need _him_, which is ludicrous. That's when you wonder if he'd notice if you left, for good.

While thinking this, you don't notice that he has lifted you off the couch and has taken you back to your room. You are both under the covers; he pulls you tight against him as he drifts off to sleep again. You bite your lip, knowing what you have to do.

When you wake up, you look at the clock, it is six o'clock and after two hours, it's still raining. Stretching, you get out of bed, wrapping your discarded robe around you once more. You smell coffee and follow your nose to the kitchen. He's sitting in your spot at the table, reading your copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and drinking out of your favourite mug. That's when you loose it.

You tell him that you've decided to leave. He thinks it's for work, but he is sadly mistaken when you tell him that you're leaving him forever, that you want to start fresh. You let it all out. You tell him that you just don't work, that the two of you should have stopped before you started, that you were fooling yourself when he said that he loved you. You tell him that you know that he lies when he says that, that he just isn't _the one_ for you. A flash of lighting lights up the room, revealing the horrid daffodils, which you mention to him that you hate them

He sits there, stunned, not knowing what to think or say. When he doesn't say anything for five minutes, you march out of the kitchen and into your room. You quickly change into a pair of jeans, a grey tank, and a jean blazer. You say a spell with a quick flick of your wand wrist, all of your stuff that was lying around the flat flies into suitcases, which shrink into the palm of your hand once it is finished. You stuff the miniature suitcases into your pocket.

You walk out of the room and into the living room where he is waiting for you. He pleads for you to stay, that you can work it out like you always do. You shake your head sadly at him and tell him that maybe one day your friendship can be restored because you had been through so much to throw it away. He yells at you for the next ten minutes about daffodils and love and friendship and something else that didn't really intrigue you. He finally stops to allow the red to drain from his face; he briskly walks by you, brushing your side as he went.

As you go to leave the flat, another flash of lightning lights up the room, showing you the daffodils again. And as you exit through the door into the rain, you can't help but think that the daffodils look lovely today.

**Author's Note:**_ Three guesses as to who this was about. Please leave a Review or a Flame! _

_-Magical Love_


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